


A Very Good View

by Cruel_Irony



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Windows - Freeform, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 03:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16653403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruel_Irony/pseuds/Cruel_Irony
Summary: The view from James' window has always been boring. Just a depressingly empty flat dominating his view. Until a new neighbour makes things much better.





	A Very Good View

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU set in a world where James is a lawyer in Liverpool, and Harry is his neighbour. Harry has been kicked out of his home after a prostitution incident, and is now getting his life together. I don't, unfortunately, have any rights to Hollyoaks or the characters.
> 
> Please enjoy!!

For a bachelor pad that siphons over half of his salary each year, James’ apartment has a terrible view. To one side, the building’s large, ceiling- to-floor windows gaze out over the bustle of the city and the glistening ever winding through it like a ribbon. But, on the other side, onto which James’ flat looks, is just another building. A boring, brown block of cheap box-like flats that must have been an earlier development. The only bonus to living there, that James can find, are the windows, which are just as impressive as his. Why the two buildings are stood next to each other when they are clearly on the opposite ends of the price spectrum, James will never know.

It never used to cross his mind much, the windows. It only bothered him when he wished he could gaze out on shimmering waters, rather than the unoccupied flat level with him. That flat, dark and empty and cold, was all he could see out of his windows. If he tried, he could glimpse the mundane lives of the neighbours, but he wasn’t too bothered. It was just an empty flat.

Until it wasn’t. Until the day James couldn’t stand to look at yet more paperwork and he looked to the flat, because that was what constituted a view, and saw the lights on and a few boxes and bags in the living room. The rest of the stuff must be elsewhere in the apartment, because that really couldn’t be all that was brought. It took a moment before the new occupant walked into view.

He was young, early twenties at a guess, and handsome. Sandy blond hair and a toned body that James immediately appreciated. It seems his view had just gotten ten times better. Paperwork abandoned, James watched the young man unpack his boxes in record time and start fiddling with a battered radio, then pick out a book and start reading. Such a simple life. Music and reading. At least he wasn’t some brainless, square-eyed millennial who can’t look further than a TV screen. A very good view.

Life goes on as normal, with the added feature of watching the life of his nameless neighbour’s life within the confines of his living room. He goes to work every morning at eight o’clock, when the curtains are closed, and returns at five, when they are open and the man is doing various odds and ends. Painting the walls a warm cream with chocolate brown accents to cover up the hideous mustard and khaki combination; assembling flat pack bookshelves and filling them with a surprising number of titles; dancing wildly around to music in his happiest moments.

On the days that James works from home, he becomes more familiar with his neighbour’s routine. He wakes up an hour after James usually leaves for work, and departs quickly to work, which James assumes is as a waiter of some kind if the smart shirt and tie and apron are any indication. The man works every day, not even taking the weekends off. And he looks exhausted, James just wishes he would take a day to himself.

Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, James thinks he sees the other man watching his apartment. He wonders what the man could be seeing. A workaholic? A suave businessman? A lonely old man who’s family don’t answer his phone calls?

It’s not like the other mans’ life is so peachy. He’s seen him calling someone who doesn’t always pick up, who, when they do, elicits yells and then shamed shuffling. Maybe his family is just as messed up as James’ own, maybe he’s been banished and exiled and disowned, just like James. Whatever it is, James hates whoever is on the other end of the line.

He hates it even more when the man comes home from work later than usual with a single cupcake and some candles. He lights it, blows it out, then sobs on his sofa, tears falling into the frosting. Confused without the sound to go with the picture, it takes James a while to figure out what’s going on. When he does, he quickly scribbles a note and tapes it to his window, hoping it won’t be taken badly. ‘Happy Birthday’.

The man doesn’t see it right away, and James distracts himself by pouring a drink so he doesn’t stare out of the window like a pervert. When he returns the man is staring straight of his window at the note, a smile on his face. James waves awkwardly, and the man waves back. The man dashes away, but returns and tapes his own message. ‘Thank you’.

The next morning, James expects the incident to be forgotten, and he almost does, until he chances a glance out the window and spots a new message. ‘Good morning’. He tapes one back, and leaves for work. When he returns, the other man hasn’t replied, until he returns from work, sees the message and a huge grin envelops his face. He replies, ‘I’m fine. How was work?’.

And so it goes. The two men start up a stilted conversation via messages taped onto their windows. It’s never a fluid conversation - there’s only so much you can convey with the written word, limited paper and windows - but somehow it becomes the highlight of James’ day seeing the small notes the other man leaves.

He learns that his name is Harry, and he does indeed work as a waiter. He has recently moved out of his dad’s place, but that’s the extent of the family talk. There’s more there, James knows. But he doesn’t push. He reads about the demanding customers he serves and the abuses of his bosses, and tells Harry about his own life. Nothing too serious, and nothing too personal. After all, he’s never properly met this man.

People at work think he’s dating someone. They say that the smile on his face when he zones out stays it all, and they tease him until he spills a small made-up detail or runs away. He’s glad to get home, and read all about how Harry’s latest job interview went. The man is trying to get out of his draining waiter job, and is literally trying anywhere that is hiring. James gave him a few tips for acing interviews, and hopes he did well. Though, a small jealous part of his brain adds, not well enough that he can afford to move to a better flat that isn’t opposite James’.

 

Harry is pacing again. Running his hands through his hair and fretting about the placement of various things in his apartment. He’s been so stressed that he has failed to see James’ note asking if he’s okay. James keeps an eye on him, deciding to forgo his paperwork on a Sunday, and spots the moment someone knocks on the door.

Harry tenses up, rubbing his hands on his trousers, and answers the door. A man steps into view, a lot older than Harry, older than James by a small amount, and he surveys the apartment with a critical eye. From what he can see, Harry desperately wants to hug the man hello, but refrains form doing so. He’s nervous, even more so than before, but he’s hiding it well enough. But, not well enough for James. Harry wasn’t this nervous before his interviews.

The man stays for the dinner Harry painstakingly cooked by hand, and he strolls around the apartment like he owns it. Harry doesn’t lose the tension in his shoulders until the man leaves, patting Harry on the shoulder as he steps out of the door.

As Harry leans against the wall, sliding down until he plops unceremoniously not the floor, James puts his worried note back up. The other man sees it this time, and smiles. He gets up and replies. ‘Am now. Parents, right’.

So that was Harry’s father. Though he knows it’s probably wrong, James guesses that things are not as happy in the family as Harry said, and the person on the other end of the angsty phone calls was the father. If only there was no distance between them and he could comfort the younger man in person. Know exactly what was happening, rather than watching and reading censored messages. He answers, ‘I understand’.

Things go back to normal. James goes to work, and Harry hand sin his resignation at the restaurant, and they keep swapping messages through the windows. Somehow, they never exchanged phone numbers. Maybe it’s to keep the excitement alive, or to preserve the novelty. Whatever it is, James doesn’t think he wants it to end. But, all good things do end.

James is sitting in his office, late into the evening. He would have gone home hours ago but this case is pressing and he really needs to focus. His attention span is never so good when he has Harry distracting him next door. But the words on his screen and on the pages have been blurring for a while now, and the caffeine high he had been relying on was now crashing down spectacularly. He might fall asleep at his desk if he isn’t careful. So it’s no wonder he thinks he’s hallucinating when he sees Harry standing stock still in the doorway.

“Harry?” He manages to mumble out, his brain going as slow as mud. The man he has been communicating with via messages taped to windows is now here in front of him. It hits him that this could have happened a lot sooner if they had made an effort to speak to each other of even meet. But, somehow, James thinks he prefers it this way, so clandestine and destined.

“James. What are you doing here?” God, his voice is amazing. Everything about him is amazing. So much nicer up close, and, damn, does he look good in a suit.

James works to be his normal self, and not a blubbering, babbling, lovestruck mess. “I work here. I did tell you I’m a lawyer, didn’t I?”

Harry looks away, grimacing slightly at his mistake. “Yeah, you did. Sorry. Stupid question.” Oh, how James wishes he could wipe away the self-deprecation in Harry’s voice. But now isn’t the time for that. No need to scare the man away.

“What are you doing here?”

“My new job. I’m the boss’s new secretary. I guess I forgot to tell you where exactly I was working.”

“What a coincidence.”

It’s awkwardly silent between them. When James had imagined them meeting face to face, it was never this weird. It was full of excitement and maybe some flirting, but it wasn’t this. What does he say to man he’s spoken to but never met face to face. Of course, he knows Harry’s face and some of his mannerisms, but this is uncharted territory. There’s no longer two windows and eight feet of air between them. He coughs and decides to break the silence.

“Did you need something?”

“Uh, yeah. Boss says I have to drag you out by your ear and send you home to get some rest, or you’re fired. You’re working too hard.”

James groans, and saves his work, logging out swiftly. He has an idea, and he doesn’t want to bottle it now. He pushes down the lump in his throat. “Only if you walk me home.”

The smile on Harry’s face replaces the nervous pangs in his stomach with butterflies, and James knows he’s fallen for this man. He’s even better in person.

“Okay. But, only if we can get coffee together on the way to work tomorrow?” Harry proposes and James knows the feeling is mutual.

“Deal.”


End file.
